


Your Ex Lover is Dead

by Sourcherrymagiks



Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Carry On Countdown Day 3, Carry on Countdown Day 12, Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21584929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourcherrymagiks/pseuds/Sourcherrymagiks
Summary: Eight years after the events of Wayward Son Baz is living in Paris and working his way through every blue eyed boy with bronze curls that he can find, just trying to kill his feelings for Simon Snow.Tonight is going to be different.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561624
Comments: 77
Kudos: 308
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	1. It’s been eight years

**Author's Note:**

> Carry on Countdown 2019 
> 
> Day 3 - Magical Creatures  
> Day 12 - Music/song inspired  
> [‘Your ex lover is dead’ by stars]()
> 
> Update 18/12/2019 - This has been beta'd by the wonderful Aralias and, my god, did it need it. Thank you so much
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://sourcherrymagiks.tumblr.com/) 💕💕

Baz

I didn’t want to go tonight. I’m not a gala kind of person. I’m also not really a Coven person. The French Coven is much more relaxed about dark creatures, but I don’t like to press my luck.

Jacques and Arianne convinced me with the promise of a date. I have a very specific ‘type’ and Arianne is an absolute master at finding beautiful boys with bronze curls and blue eyes for me to work out my broken heart on.

“This one is nearly perfect,” she told me. 

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Nearly.”

“Yes, nearly. He might be a little too refined for your taste. He’s not your usual urchin. But very pretty.”

“I suppose it would be nice not to have to watch someone eat with their mouth open all night for a change.” 

She took that as a wholehearted agreement unfortunately

But now it’s actually time to meet them, I confess I’m a bit excited. It’s been a while. 

I pick up an umbrella on my way out. The sky over the city has suddenly gone grey, it’s going to rain, we’ll never get a taxi. That is my least favourite thing about Paris. Actually, it’s probably the only thing I have to complain of.

My life here is perfect.

Almost perfect.

A vast improvement on what I left behind.

Arianne looks astonishing in a violet Dior dress with her dark curls piled up on top of her head. I kiss her hello then shake Jacques hand. (If ever a man could make an expensive suit look pedestrian it is Jacques. Still he’s lovely so I’ll let him live.) They were the first magicians I met here, and they’ve been like family to me.

I look over to see what Arianne has provided for my entertainment. I don’t bother grilling her for details beforehand anymore so aside from ‘not an urchin’ I’m clueless. But clearly, he was expecting me. 

There is no surprise on Simon Snow’s face as he steps forward and kisses my cheek. 

My knees buckle but I regain my composure in time not to fall. He smells of cinnamon, his breath is warm against my skin. He’s here.

When he steps back, I run an appraising eye over him because Simon Snow is the dictionary definition of an urchin and it’s not like Arianne to be so inaccurate. 

Crowley, he doesn’t look like an urchin anymore. That suit is bespoke and tailored to within an inch of his body. It’s cobalt blue and the contrast against his hair is astounding. His white shirt has been tailored so the neck falls open and he doesn’t need a tie. That, at least, is typically Simon. The tan of his skin against that shirt is enough to make my breath hitch. 

I need a drink. Lots of drinks.

Arianne starts to introduce us, and I wave her away. 

“Yes, I think we’ve met before. How are you, Snow?”

“Salisbury. It’s Simon Salisbury now.”

That explains a lot. And nothing.

It explains why he changed all his social media (I thought he did that to block me). It explains why I thought he had disappeared. 

I have no idea how he found out he belonged to one of the oldest of the old families. It suits him though. He carries himself like he means to be here – he used to be so uncertain.

Then the sky opens. 

Simon already has his umbrella up and hands it to Arianne. I have mine up a second later and awkwardly try to hold it over as many of us as possible. Arianne finds this hilarious and I get a sneaking suspicion that there’s more going on here than the obvious

“Shall we go?” Jacques sweeps in rescuing us from the growing silence and pouring rain. 

Miracle of miracles a taxi pulls over.

I can’t speak in the taxi. That’s not unusual, but it hangs heavy tonight. I’m relieved when we arrive. I’ll sneak out after an hour. I have work to do on my new book and there’s no mindless sex on the cards for me now. I’ve got an evening of trying not to think about Simon while I wank instead. (Which is going to be impossible. Have you seen his thighs? Crowley, what an absolute trash fire.)

Simon opens the taxi door for me and places his hand on the small of my back to guide me in. He’s still so warm. The contact is amazing and awful. My stomach is in absolute knots. I can’t believe that I hadn’t noticed back at the apartment, but my shirt is the same colour as his suit. We look intentional. Like a couple. Shit.

Simon greets people with kisses and poor French – everyone finds him charming. His manners are impeccable. 

I can’t stop staring at him. Who is this man? What’s happened in eight years to change him so much? 

When we sit at the table one of the other guest leans over to tell Simon how much she enjoys his books. Merlin, I must have been really out of the loop if Simon’s publishing books I don’t even know about. 

“You are too kind. I only draw what Shep tells me, though.” 

Simon is blushing a little, but he’s handled these questions before, he’s got his lines down

“I love your Unicorn,” someone says. “The children have a print in the nursery––” 

Someone else talks over the top to tell him they have the Chimera in the study. 

Another asks if there are any plans for a new one. 

Arianne hands me her phone, the screen is full of the most amazing drawings of mythical and magical animals. I try to match up the things I know about Simon with these drawings, but the puzzle pieces just don’t fit.

“As long as Shep keeps writing about magical animals, I’ll keep drawing them.” He grins.

“How did you start drawing Simon?” Jacques is leaning forward, fascinated

“My grandma is an artist. When we found each other, she taught me. It helped me through some tough times. When Shep started writing, it just fell into place I suppose. I feel very lucky.”

I realise I’ve been staring at him the whole time he’s been talking. (I think I can be forgiven. He’s always been beautiful; he’s more beautiful than ever now.) It’s going better than expected, to be honest. I haven’t felt the urge to spell myself into oblivion and I’m only half drunk. 

Arianne and I start telling a story about a fancy-dress party, finishing each other’s sentences and laughing. Everyone at the table is talking and drinking. It might turn into a tolerable evening.

I’m ready to go when the dancing starts in earnest a couple of hours later. I’m a little drunk and I can’t take anymore of Simon. Too late I realise what he’s up to. 

Before I can protest in a socially acceptable way, he’s pulling me towards the dance floor.

If I thought it was torture to sit next to him, it was nothing compared to the inferno of dancing with him. I don’t think he could get any closer to me without removing some clothes. I inwardly groan at that thought. Why did I go there?

“Lady Salisbury has worked miracles with you Simon. I don’t think you spoke with your mouthful once at dinner.”

I try to sound harsh, but I’ve lost the knack of being vile to him.

He laughs – a great big laugh. “You should tell her that. She still thinks I’m a savage.”

He moves the hand that’s on my shoulder so he can graze the back of my neck with his fingers. He looks me in the eye and just comes out with it.

“I want you.”

Something in me snaps. Fuck it all. I’ve waited for years to fuck him. He’s offering himself up on a plate and I’m going to take what I can. I’ll deal with the heartbreak later.

Simon

This is perhaps the stupidest of all my stupid ideas. 

I broke us. I broke this. I broke it into so many prices that Baz won’t live in the same country as me. He writes books that are so full of sadness that it takes me a week to recover from reading them. He has made no attempt to contact me in eight years. Why I am here disturbing his peace?

I know the answer though. I couldn’t stay away. I haven’t been drawing or sleeping or even eating properly. Grandma told me to come to Paris for a change of scene. It’s not worth arguing with her once she’s decided something.

It does mean that I’m staying in the 16th arrondissement, which is hardly a hotbed of excitement, but the Salisbury apartment has amazing light. It’s actually perfect for me.

When Baz whispers in my ear about going back to mine, I agree indecently quickly. 

There’s a better chance if I can get him on my territory. I don’t think we are going to end up happily ever after – I’ve heard the rumours about his approach to relationships so I’m not hopeful – I just need to know.

“Fuck, Snow, could you live further out? I didn’t think anyone under a hundred years old lived here.”

“It’s Salisbury. I’ll be sure to tell Grandmother that you disapprove of our ancestral apartment.” 

I start laughing before I’ve even finished the sentence, he laughs too.  
I’ve managed to keep my hands off him the whole ride home but I’m itching to touch him; I need him to touch me.

We aren’t even through the door properly when he grabs me by the waist, only to be knocked off me by the dogs.

“Get off, you stupid animals,” I say while I’m encouraging them to jump all over me. “Sorry Baz, I’m afraid they have no manners. Dave, Carl, meet Baz. Now fuck off back to your beds.” 

They obediently trot away.

“What the actual fuck? Why is your holiday home full of dogs? And fucking spaniels at that.” Baz sounds irrationally bothered by this. I guess he didn’t expect to find a home.

“I don’t go anywhere without them, they’d never forgive me.” I’ve put on my most serious voice which just makes Baz laugh at me again.

I remember my manners. “Would you like a drink?”

“I haven’t come here to chat with you about old times over a cup of tea. Let’s cut straight to the good bit.”

And then he’s on me, kissing me, pulling me. It feels like an explosion.

I think he crowds me against every wall on the way to my bedroom. I’m sure we’ve destroyed at least six priceless antiques. My jacket has gone and my shirt is twisted and untucked. Baz looks equally tattered. I’ve pulled his hair until it’s hanging over his face. His jacket is half off and I have no idea when I unbuckled his belt.

I need him. I want him so badly. 

I have no idea what to do next.

Baz

Simon is panting as he pulls at my jacket. What I want to do is fuck him against this wall, right now. But I’ve dreamt about this moment for too long. I have to do this properly.

I lick his ear before whispering, “Where’s your bed? This place is huge.”

He snorts at me, then drags me by the hand to his room. He wants me, he wants this. I almost groan thinking about it.

Instead I pull myself together and ask practical questions. (I don’t want to have to interrupt whatever we’re doing later.) (Well, unless it’s going that way.)

“Condoms, lube?” I demand. 

He blushes beautifully and points to the nightstand. I’m glad I checked. I would have been pissed to have to unwrap this stuff mid fuck. (Why is it still in the wrapping? I suppose he’s not here that often)

I suddenly start feeling a bit nervous. This isn’t actually a functional wank. This is the love of my life. This is all my dreams and fantasies.

I step forward and kiss him. I could kiss him forever. He still kisses like he did when he was twenty. Urgent, hot, demanding. It’s so good.

He tries to pull at my clothes again, but I bat his hands away. I’m going to do this right. 

I kiss up his jaw line, catching each mole, while I stroke the back of his neck with my thumbs. Then I bring my hands round over his shoulders (I could write a fucking sonnet about his shoulders) down to the buttons on his shirt. I undo each one as slowly as I can. When I finally slip the button through, I drop a kiss on the skin I’ve exposed. His hands are in my hair. Each time I move my lips back from his skin he follows, pressing into me. 

By the time I get to the bottom button, I’m on my knees and Simon is whimpering. 

I run my hands up his legs from ankle to thigh. He really is a scandal in these trousers. His thighs are more toned than they were last time I touched him. I get a bit lost tracing the lines of his muscle for a minute.

His cock is pushing against the zip. (He’s so hard. I’m doing that to him.) I let my hand brush against it as I unzip him, setting off another round of delectable moans from Simon. I have to yank a bit to get his trousers down. 

Merlin, if I thought his thighs felt good before, I was not prepared for the feel of them naked. 

I run my hands over his skin feeling the tickle of his hair against my hands. I reach around and cup his arse with both hands; he pushes forward into my face.

I lick him through his boxers. I’d forgotten how incredibly loud he is when he’s turned on. It’s making me want like I haven’t wanted in years. This is already more than I’ve ever done with him. 

But I’m greedy. 

I want it all.

Simon

Fuck, I want this. I want him. How have I survived this want?

He pulls my boxers down and licks me from the base to the tip of my cock. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to stand up. I swear if he takes me in his mouth, I’ll be done for.

“Baz, I need you naked please. Please.” 

I’m happy to beg. I’m happy to plead for the chance to run my mouth over his skin. 

He stands up and raises one eyebrow at me. Prat.

I tug at his jacket with zero grace and no skill, but it comes off eventually. I haven’t got time to fumble with his shirt, so I look straight into his beautiful grey eyes and yank his shirt open sending buttons flying. 

I expect him to grump at me but instead he makes this noise – it goes straight to my cock.

I mean to go for his zipper but find my mouth over one of his nipples, licking and rolling it between my teeth. He digs his fingernails into my shoulders, so I bite down harder. I’m rewarded with another lewd gasp.

Reluctantly I lift my head and start working on his trousers. Again it’s a bit of a wrestling match. I loved how tight his suit was when we were out, but now it’s just a liability. I save time by dragging his pants off at the same time.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous. I can barely breathe. 

Then he’s kissing me again and pressing everything into me. I feel like he’s set my skin on fire.

“How do you want this, Snow?” He’s gasping into my mouth.

“My name is Salisbury. But in answer to your question, will you fuck me?” 

I don’t think he knows how nervous I am. 

I don’t think he’s onto me at all.

Baz

I have no idea why Simon is so nervous. I mean I do, a bit. But we aren’t fumbling teenagers anymore. 

I stop thinking about it because I can’t keep thinking and kissing Simon. And I need to keep kissing Simon.

I pick him up and drop him on the bed. He huffs a bit, but then crawls up the to the pillows and lays on his back. It feels like a fever dream. How am I even here?

I kneel between his thighs and pour lube onto my fingers. “Ready?”

He can scarcely squeeze out a “Please” before my finger is circling his rim. 

I push, just a little, and feel him start to open for me. I push further in and start working my finger inside him. 

He’s whining now, tangling his hands in my hair, forcing himself down on to my finger. I dip my head to lick the top of his cock again – it’s damp and salty. 

While I’ve got him in my mouth, I slide another finger in. His hips roll, pushing me further inside. He’s tight. It’s amazing how tight he is. I manage to get my third finger in but it’s hard to move. I pull my fingers out and spread his arse wide. When my mouth covers his hole, he shudders and nudges closer to my lips. I lick and kiss and slide my tongue inside until he’s a wreck. 

When I put my fingers back in, he’s so much more open. I need to get inside him soon or this is going to be over too quickly.

Simon

I need him in me now. 

Before I have to start shamelessly begging, he’s rolling the condom down over his cock. I’m squirming with frustration, so he has to hold me down by the hip while he’s lining himself up. 

The first movement is fucking agony. I wince and he raises an eyebrow at me. 

It’s also fucking amazing. I take a deep breath and he slides the rest of the way in. 

He’s holding still, waiting for something. He must know, I dunno how but then I’m no expert. I’m just getting more uncomfortable. I roll my hips forward a bit and he responds straight away. Then it’s everything. I’m hot and full and fuck, I want him.

I cling to him, pulling him into me, shouting his name and every curse word I’ve ever known. He thrusts harder and deeper and I’m starting to––

“Baz, I’m close. Please––” 

I don’t even know what I’m asking for – he does though. He palms my cock and he’s stroking me and fucking me at the same pace. I’m done for.

I come and it’s searing hot between us. Pulsing. Trembling. I watch the moon flit across his eyes as he comes inside me, and I could die happy now.

Baz

As sentient thought returns to me, I think I could die happy now. 

Then I immediately think that I might have to. I can’t believe what I’ve just done. There are about 300,000,000 reasons I should not have fucked Simon – I know them all. 

Except the one surprise he had hidden away. 

Because he’s been surprising me every day since he was eleven. 

Because he’s shit at letting people know the salient information. 

Because he’s Simon bloody Snow.

“Simon. You know how I feel about you. You know how much I want you. But it is completely fucking unacceptable to lure me into casual sex when you haven’t had sex before.”

He’s biting his lip and blushing a bit. “I would say I’m sorry but I’m not. You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to– I just never – I don’t expect anything.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I don’t expect anything, Baz.”

Then he’s pulling me back into his arms and I want so much to stay there.

Simon

I just want him to stay here. For a bit. Well, forever really, but I’ll take what I can get.

“Stay,” I tell him. “Just stay, please. I’m not here for long. So just stay. For now.” 

There’s no way that’s going to work. But I’ve got to try.

“Then what, Simon?”

“Then I go back to my life as the weird spinster artist and you can go back to a life of casual sex and literature.”

He laughs at me. “I don’t think men can be spinsters, no matter how pretty they are”

“I dunno, you know – I am very pretty.” 

He kisses me again and again and again. When he pulls away, he grins at me.


	2. Impossible Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice walk and a cup of tea. Also magic and smut.

Baz

I wake up in Simon’s bed. I have no idea what I’m doing but I’m going to keep on doing it for a bit longer. 

Simon is leaning against the door frame. My first thought is to thank the stars he’s wearing clothes. Crowley knows what I’d do if he was wandering around naked.

My second though is that my first thought is stupid. Simon in these particular clothes is as bad as naked. He’s wearing a chunky cream sweater and beautifully soft jeans that are so low on his hips that it should be illegal. His hair is mussed and falling over his face. He looks like Sunday morning.

He brings over coffee and a plate of pastries. “Sorry, they’re from yesterday. I couldn’t be arsed to go out”

“Snow, how is it possible that there are leftover baked goods in your house? Also are you really proposing eating pastries in bed? You really are a savage”

“You can keep calling me Snow if you need to, but it’s still Salisbury. And I am absolutely going to eat in bed, with you, crumbs be damned.”

He slides back into bed beside me. I keep waiting to wake up. Really wake up. Back in a world where Simon Snow does not feed me pastries in bed. 

“So, my plan for the day is to walk the lads before they go feral,” he says. “Then come back here and have as much sex as possible with you and maybe, at some point, order takeout. Does that sound like a plan that you can go with or would you like to argue about it for old time’s sake?”

“I’m all yours for now, do with me what you will” I throw my hands up like I’m giving in. He leans over and kisses me. Soft and sweet. 

Crowley, this is going to hurt.

Simon

It’s nice to dress Baz in my clothes for a change. I dig out a midnight blue jumper and my tightest jeans. They’re still loose on him but he’s got a belt. I’m not complaining about being able to easily get my hand down the back of them, either. The colour of that jumper is perfect on him. Mind you I’ve rarely seen him looking anything other than perfect. He wore the Watford uniform like it was couture.

We take the dogs to the park over the road. Baz is pretending not to like them, but he scratches behind their ears whenever they come anywhere near him, so they think he’s a God.

I hesitate before reaching for his hand, but we agreed to do this. Just for now. So I do and he doesn’t pull away. 

He hasn’t managed to do anything meaningful to his hair and with my far-too-big clothes on the overall effect is a ‘just shagged’ look. I did that to him. I want to be the one that does that to him. I’m starting to wish impossible things.

I kiss him in the park. He kisses me in the park. I narrowly resist snogging him up against a tree but it’s a close thing. I cut the walk a little bit short (which Dave and Carl will make me pay for later but I’m all about kicking problems down the road right now).

Back at the apartment the door is barely closed before I’m on him. The dogs pick up on the not subtle cues and take themselves off.

I drag his jeans down over his hips and kneel in front of him. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be bad at this. I’m new to all of this. I don’t even watch porn. I’ve only ever wanted Baz. I hadn’t really thought through what I was going to do once I had him.

I try to remember what he did last night. (Last night, fuck.) I lick right the way along his cock then swirl my tongue around the head of it before taking him in my mouth. 

My rhythm is sloppy and I know I haven’t got this. I pop my mouth off and give him what I hope is my cheekiest grin. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing, so unless my enthusiasm is enough you might have to show me.”

Baz

Aleister fucking Crowley.

Simon is on his knees. Holding my cock. Asking me to help him suck it properly. How the hell am I supposed to respond to that? 

I can’t speak so I twist my fingers in his hair and guide him back towards my cock – he catches on quickly. I tug on his curls to get him moving in a rhythm that sets off explosions in my brain. He works out that he can add a hand in all by himself and moves with the same rhythm, hand and mouth. It’s good. It’s so good. 

Embarrassingly quickly I feel myself edging closer. I need to give him fair warning, but I still can’t speak. I drop my hands out of his curls and hope he takes the hint. 

If he does, it doesn’t stop him swallowing every last drop of come as I shudder into his mouth. He laps at my cock, licking it clean before he moves his mouth off me. 

I’m slumped against the wall – I don’t know if I can safely move.

“Tea?”

“What?”

“Tea?”

“What?”

“Basil, would you like a cup of tea before we retire to my bedroom and fuck some more?”

How have we gone from earth shattering blowjobs to tea so quickly? I feel like I’ve got whiplash. 

I do want tea though. 

“Yes. Tea. Please”

I pull the jeans back on. I intend to stagger over and collapse on the sofa while he’s making the tea, but I’m drawn to the windows. 

The light here is extraordinary. The whole apartment is white and airy. I would’ve expected it to be more chintzy, given that it’s in the 16th and it belongs to an old family, but it’s modern and minimal. The shelves are full of art books and there are almost no photographs. 

Simon’s desk is under the window, so I look over his drawings. They are astonishing. They seem so lifelike and magical at the same time. The pictures I saw on Arianne’s phone did them no justice.

Simon comes slouching back in. He doesn’t stand up properly in private. The whole ‘My Fair Lady’ thing is public facing only. From what I remember about Lady Salisbury, that’s a family trait. It’s all diamonds and beautiful manners at events and all wellies and swearing at home.

“Your work is gorgeous, Snow – I had no idea”

“It’s Salisbury and I’m guessing that’s why you had no idea. Did you lose track of me on purpose or was it the name change?” 

He’s grinning but this is exactly the kind of conversation I don’t want to have. I can’t have. I can’t sit here chatting to Simon Snow like this is real. Like we can be anything in each other’s future, like the past is not made of pain.

“I don’t think I can do this if we have to do that, Simon.” 

I’m a coward but that road leads nowhere good.

“Understood. It’s not like I’m good at talking about stuff anyway. But, for what it’s worth, I love your books”

“That’s because I’m fucking brilliant. But enough. Give me tea, then sex, you horror.”

Simon

As soon as he touches me, I’m on fire. I don’t know what I need, but I need it and I need him to give it to me.

When he asks me, “What do you want?” I actually have no idea.

“Erm You? Other than that, I’m clueless”

“Please tell me you’ve got some experience of something, Simon.”

I don’t think he’s going to like the answer. 

“Baz, if you haven’t done it to me or with me, then I haven’t done it. There was only ever you.” 

He groans and it sounds like half exasperation and half desire.

Baz

It’s a pretty sobering thought that Simon has just been alone this whole time. Not loving anyone new. Not even superficially having a relationship with anyone. I mean I guess I did the same when we were teenagers but still.

I don’t want to think about what that means. I’m happy with not knowing that. 

Instead of thinking about difficult, impossible things, I’m going to kiss every mole on his body. Then I’m going to do every single other thing that younger me wanted to do to him. Then I’m going to do it all again.

“Are you sore?” I ask him and he goes a delicious shade of pink.

He half mumbles into the pillow. “Nope, all good.”

“Simon, no ‘chosen one’ bullshit, please. Does it hurt?” He flinches like I’ve slapped him. “Shit, Simon, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“S’ok, it’s just been awhile since I heard it. My arse is fine, thank you. I healed it”

It’s my turn to flinch. “You have magic?”

“I think that conversation might be a bit much. Long story short, I’ve got enough magic for emergencies and healing. And some out-of-control stuff that I keep under control. Mostly under control.”

He looks more embarrassed then when I asked about his arse. But I want to know.

“Tell me the long story, if you can?” I ask as gently as possible. This all feels so fragile. So unstable.

“OK, but you have to be touching me. Can we multitask?”

“Alright get naked and talk to me about magic.” I’m laughing as I say it, but I stop to catch my breath as he takes his jumper off. 

Fuck. He should come with a warning. 

His jeans quickly follow and I’m getting breathless watching him. He climbs back onto the bed and I flip him so he’s face down. It will be easier for him to talk this way and I want to spend some time on his shoulders.

I start kissing his neck, but he looks over his shoulder at me. “You’re very overdressed.” 

I pull my jumper and jeans off. It takes about a millisecond and I lie back on him. He was right, it’s much better like this. My skin sings where it touches his. I go back to nuzzling his neck.

“I can’t speak magic anymore,” he says. “Spells don’t work – shit Baz, that’s good – I’ve tried all of the family magical objects but it’s not – ahhh, I like that – I can manipulate nature if I think about it. I can call my sword and I can choose if I have wings. If I lose control it messes with the weather a bit. God, Baz, harder.”

I oblige and bite down on his shoulder, sucking and licking until I’m sure he’s marked. He sighs into the pillow.

“Show me, please,” I murmur into his hair. 

He rolls over and pulls me into a kiss. “Are you sure? it’s not like it used to be.”

I snort. “Thank Merlin for that!”

He puts his hands together and closes his eyes. The air around him shimmers, just slightly, like he’s radiating heat. When he opens his hands, they’re full of tiny blue flowers. It’s magical. (I mean it’s magic obviously but it’s also magical.) I laugh with delight. Then he’s laughing too.

This is too much, it’s too intimate. I didn’t sign up for this. Although fuck knows what I did sign up for.

“What are we doing Simon?” I try to take the edge off by tucking his hair behind his ear.

“I know what I’m doing here, I can’t answer for you. I know what I did and I know how I feel and I know what I want. It’s not fair for me to put any of that on you. I don’t expect anything. This is more that I could have dreamed of. So stay – I’m here for two more weeks. Stay with me.”

Hope explodes in my chest, ripping through me. (Does he? Could we?) I fight it all back. 

I just about survived this the first time. I need to slow the fuck down.

“I’ll stay. I said I would. Now would you lie down so I can fuck you please?”

Simon

I went far too far there. He’s going to leave if I push – that’s the last thing I want. 

His mouth is back on my neck, cool and soft. He’s kissing me on every bit of my skin. Occasionally he nips me then presses his tongue on the bite. I push down into the bed just to get some friction on my cock but he settles himself on my hips so can’t move. I feel of his cock against my arse and try to back into him to get more. But he’s not having it. 

He licks my ear and whispers, “I’ve got you now, Simon”.


	3. What am I supposed to do now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And all that's left is a blind reflection  
> But you know what's coming and you regret it
> 
> Inspired by 
> 
> [ Michigan ](https://open.spotify.com/track/0WkJWnMCumm1fnFscdY7Rw?si=S1Qnsc-9QP2_BX5vBZq7AQ)
> 
> Carry on Countdown 2019  
> Day 12 - Song/Music Inspired

Simon

I don’t want to change this moment. Even a little bit. I’m wrapped around the very naked love of my life. But the romance of it (not romance – Baz is just here to fuck me out of his system, I assume) needs to give way to some practicalities.

“Hey, do you need to feed?”

He’s less tense about it than he used to be but still not comfortable. “I am getting there.” 

“Cool, Arianne dropped you some supplies over earlier.”

“What? What the fuck, Snow?”

“Would you rather we round up some squirrels? Plus you can’t keep wearing my clothes, much as I like you in them.”

“It’s not the stuff you moron, it’s the blabbing to my friend.” 

He’s pouting. Almost sulking.

“Perhaps after this you need to have a conversation with her, but I promise you I didn’t need to blab. She offered – check your phone. I’m glad you’ve got a Penny to look out for you.” 

I kiss him and he keeps scowling so I kiss him harder. He resists for about three seconds then he melts into the kiss

Baz

Simon phones for food while I drink. (Crowley, his French is excruciating. Also adorable.) The pig’s blood was neatly put away in the fridge. My garment bag was hanging on the door. 

I guess the concierge gets paid enough to ignore the whims of the rich tenants. Even if they include pints of animal blood. 

Even when they are loudly fucking just up the hall

Every muscle in my body hurts. I feel utterly done in. Simon comes around behind me and loops his arms around my waist. I lean back into him until I’m pressed as close as I can get. He sighs into my shoulder. 

We move to the sofa when I’ve finished. 

We fit together like this. We already learnt this. 

I don’t think I could ever, even for a moment, admit how much I’ve missed us. The casual softness of just being with Simon. Except, horrifyingly, this is better. He’s not so fragile anymore. He’s not on edge. 

The TV is on, but I have no idea what we are supposed to be watching. I’m drifting in a half-asleep world where the only reality is how warm he is. The rise and fall of his chest. His fingers on my skin. His legs twisted in mine.

Unfortunately there are also two dogs on us. I’m trying to ignore them. I’m mildly put out that they are trying to muscle in on my attention. (Of course, Simon has spaniels. Ridiculous, over-excitable, adorable.) It’s disgusting. They keep making me stroke their stupid ears. Occasionally Simon addresses comments to them so casually that he must do that all the time. The thought of Simon wandering around this gigantic apartment talking to his dog friends twists something right up inside me.

He pulls me down into a kiss just as I’m turning to kiss him. It’s a kiss that’s full of something I can’t quite place. It’s not regret; more regret in advance. Like he knows what’s coming and he would do anything for it not to be. The horrible inevitability of this ending. 

I run my hands over his back, trying to move us on from this. If we carry on, I’m going to cry or worse. 

Fortunately, at that moment the bell rings (the takeway must be here) and the dogs explode in a flurry of barking and jumping.

Simon

Thank Merlin for the doorbell. I have no idea what just happened, but it was–– Well, it was

I give up thinking about it and throw the steak and fries onto plates and feed the dogs while I’m at it, so we don’t have to look at their sad, deprived faces while we eat. 

I shout Baz to come through, the dining room is under sheets still, so we’ll have to eat in here. He saunters in looking like he’s lived here his whole life. I suppose he has lived in places like this his whole life. It’s taken me ages to get used to it.

“Do you want wine?” I wave in the general direction of the wine rack

“Are you having any?” he asks and it’s a perfectly normal question. There’s no reason for me to blush and stammer at him. He was there, for fuck’s sake.

“I can’t. Medication, for the–– To stop me––”

“Crowley, Snow.”

I can’t tell if he thinks I’m more tragic or more pathetic.

Kill me now.

I was doing an OK job of not being a pitiful idiot.

Baz

I want to tell him he’s the bravest person I’ve ever met. That I think medication is fantastic if it takes away some of that pain he was getting crushed under. I want to. Instead I stroke his knuckles and offer him a chip.

When we’ve finished eating, he stretches and rolls his shoulders. It’s a full-on erotic masterpiece. 

“D’you want to stay here while I walk these fools or come with?”

“I don’t think I can move, Snow. You might have broken me.”

He leans forward and brushes his finger over my bottom lip then he growls under his breath, “Best rest up then.”

We move back through to the sitting room and then he wanders off to his room. I’m a bit puzzled until he comes back out in running kit.

Shorts.

I was not ready for Simon in shorts.

“Simon, you’re wearing shorts.”

This makes him double over with laughter and it’s so infectious that I’m laughing too. He plonks himself down in my lap and kisses me. I should just let him go but instead I slide my hand up his leg and under the hem of his shorts.

He buries his face in my neck and says, “I’m sure you’ve seen me in shorts before, Pitch.”

“Only teenage you, not this you.”

This ‘you’. This ‘you’, Simon. This ‘you’ is breaking my heart in a whole new set of excruciating and wonderful ways. I don’t know if ‘you’ is worth risking everything I’ve built. I think it might be

I almost–– 

But he’s up and blowing me a kiss as he leaves.

I should absolutely use this time to snoop, to try and unlock the secret to this Simon. I intend to. But this sofa is still warm from him and it smells of him and he really has worn me out

I wake up when he comes barrelling back into the apartment. 

He’s flushed red and deliciously sweaty. The dogs come over and demand attention (horrible things, I stroke them in the hope they’ll go away) then they go to their room. I think he might have worn them out too (I objectively did not think it was possible to fatigue a spaniel, but they look exhausted) (Also why do the dogs have their own room?)

“Hey darling, shower or bath?” 

He’s peeling his t shirt off as he asks so my mind completely stops working. The combination of the casual endearment and the bare skin is just too much.

“Hey, Baz, shower or bath?”

I just beckon him over, but he shakes his head

“I’m gross, I need a wash. If I sweat on that sofa grandma will disown me.”

I harrumph. “Shower then, it’s quicker.” 

I flash him what I hope is a look of utter filth. Given that he coughs a little then practically runs away to the bathroom, I guess it works.

Simon

Fucking hell, Baz was sleeping on my sofa. He looked so edible I practically had to run away. I adjust the shower so it’s hot enough for him and strip. He comes through after a little while still fully clothed.

“Too many clothes, Baz.”

“Observant as ever Snow, what would we do without your insights?”

He’s trying to snark at me and it’s darling. I wish again that this was my life. Fake arguing with my beautiful boyfriend. 

Not just my beautiful boyfriend but Baz. This picture only works with him.

Grandma and Penny and Shep sent me on dates but I can’t do it. I don’t want to kiss anyone but him. I hate the feeling of other people touching my skin like that. I haven’t bothered at all for the last few years. It’s cruel to the poor sod that ends up with me tensing every time they brush against me. It can’t be good for anyone’s self-esteem.

Enough.

Not now, now I get to be here with him. In the shower. It’s worth the scalds.

“Do you need any help there sweetheart , or can you manage?” I step towards him, but he holds his hand out.

“I can manage thank you – generally I can get out of my clothes without resorting to violence.”

“It was very minor violence and the shirt started it. It’s not like I used my sword.”

“Small mercies, Snow.”

I get in the shower first because I’m absolutely rank. There’s not enough magic in the world to clean me right now. When Baz gets in, he moves around me so he’s directly under the spray. I see him eyeing the products in the shower, checking they meet his standards.

“Will that stuff do for you, you posh twat?”

He raises his beautiful eyebrow at me “Salisbury, your surname is a byword for unbelievable wealth. You don’t get to call me a posh twat anymore.”

“Ha! You called me Salisbury.” I move my hands to his chest. He feels hot at first touch because of the water but I can feel the cool sleeping out of him.

“Only to keep you in line.” He kisses me deep and slow.

Baz

Why am I so weak? Why do I melt inside every time he sweethearts at me? I can’t even get a properly vicious comeback out.

But his kisses. My hand on his cheek. The way he’s breathing into me. His hands on my chest.

I’m craving him again. 

Closer. 

I run my hands over the curve of his arse. Even with all the running he still has a layer of softness all over. I pull him into me, gasping when his cock slides against mine. He’s as hard as me, his want matching mine. Crowley, that’s so mind-blowingly hot.

I don’t want to take my time this time. I just want to get off. I want to not think. I grind up against him again and again, kissing him hard. It doesn’t take long.

“Simon, I’m close.”

He groans at me then stops kissing me to bite at my shoulder. Not gentle nips but hard bites followed by hard licks. If I bled easily, he would probably be drawing blood. It’s making me whine. 

Simon moves his hand to the wall to steady himself as I push harder and harder against him until I’m shuddering and pulsing white hot over him. He clutches me close and thrusts urgently into me biting and gasping until he’s coming hard, trembling in my arms. 

I feel the cold before I hear the noise.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Then I see it, the wall is covered in ice spreading out from Simon’s hand.

“Great Snakes, you didn’t tell me you were Elsa.”

He looks at me and there is so much vulnerability in his face. 

I kiss him again. “I always figured I would be Elsa, all moody and dramatic. I pegged you for Olaf.”

“That’s it Pitch, mock my pain.”

“Someone has to keep you grounded.”

He starts to relax into me again. I reach for his soap (vetiver, very nice) and start washing him. This is across every single line that I’ve arbitrarily invented. But I find myself not giving a fuck. He needs some softness right now.

“Is that your out of control weather magic?” I ask as I’m lathering across his hip.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I normally have it tighter than that.”

“It’s OK. It’s amazing actually, as long as you keep it off my cock.”

We laugh into each other’s mouths as the kissing starts up again.

Baz

I roll over and I’m alone. It’s still dark. For a moment I’m really confused. This isn’t my bed, why does it smell of Simon? Then it floods back to me and I’m grinning like a preposterous sap.

I’m thirsty so I wander to the kitchen to get a drink. (I’m not thirsty. I want Simon.)

Simon’s at his desk in the sitting room. There’s a dog in his lap and one on his feet. His hand is moving quickly across the page. I walk over to him and cough a little to let him know I’m there. I think it’s probably fairly perilous to startle him unless I want to be frozen to death.

“Hey you,” he says without looking up. 

I put my hands on his shoulders and look down at what he’s drawing. It a picture of fingers brushing the back of a hand. I didn’t even think he noticed when I did it. I didn’t know it would mean anything to him, but it’s here. It’s nothing like his illustrations which are light and bursting with life and colour. This is in charcoal and it’s intense, but still so beautiful. 

“Simon, it’s lovely.” 

“S’for you. I couldn’t rest until it was out. You ready to go back to bed?”

“Yes please.”

He whistles under his breath to the dogs who trot sadly away and takes my hand. Back in bed there’s more kissing. Kissing Simon, Simon kissing me. Every kiss feels like a question, every kiss feels like a possibility. But I’m sleepy and I’m asleep more than kissing. 

I think I hear Simon say something. Then I’m sure he did. 

“Simon? Did you just?”

“Ssshhh, sleep”

Simon

I need to tuck my feelings away a bit better tomorrow. I would have hidden the drawing if he hadn’t seen it. I wouldn’t have told him I loved him if I thought he was awake. I’m not mad enough to think that anything I could say or do would make him want to risk being with me again. I tortured him then broke his heart. I’m surprised he doesn’t hate me more.

I close my eyes and try to enjoy what I have right now.


	4. My heart stays the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you considered just asking the fucking questions? Then you’ll know the answers. It’s really the only way from point A to point B
> 
> Or
> 
> This is revolutionary. It would change everything.

Baz

He wakes me up kissing me again. My breath must be vile but I open up to him anyway. I could kiss him forever. If I could kiss him forever.

“M’going to make breakfast and call grandma. Join me when you’re ready, sweetheart.” Then he’s gone.

I wait the shortest possible time before I follow him. It’s still too long.

He’s got his phone propped up next to him as he makes pancake batter. He’s laughing – really laughing.

“I hope you told her what happened last time.”

Lady Salisbury’s voice blasts out. “I most certainly did not Simon. I just told her to fuck off. That did the trick.” 

He laughs again, it’s a deep filthy laugh. I find myself wishing I knew this story.

“Do you want me to put an order in for a new suit, darling?” she continues. “The Foundation gala is next month and I’m not sure you’ve got anything suitable “

“By ‘suitable’ do you mean something that I’ve worn once before? Because I’ve definitely got suitable things by any other definition. How about the olive green?”

“It won’t do, Simon. I’m wearing turquoise – we will look like we don’t speak. Is Basil there? Ask him what he thinks.”

Simon picks up the phone and hands it to me. I blow a kiss and Lady Salisbury clucks her tongue at me.

“Basil, still a shocking tease I see. What colour for Simon if I’m in turquoise?”

“Pearl grey – he always looks lovely in grey.”

“Good. That’s one thing off my list. Will you be attending, Basil?”

“I haven’t asked yet, you interfering old biddie,” Simon interrupts.

“Well get a move on, you annoying whippersnapper. I can only imagine how long it takes Basil to plan an outfit.” They smile fondly at each other. “Have you asked him about Natasha’s work yet?”

“Not yet, grandma, fuck.”

“Mouth Simon. Have you considered just asking the fucking questions? Then you’ll know the answers. It’s really the only way from point A to point B.”

“Did you just tell me off for swearing then immediately swear?”

“Probably but I’m old and hence allowed to be hypocritical. You have that to look forward to. How are the dogs?”

“Sleeping in my bed and eating people food from the table.” 

“So, help me Simon–– Basil will you please exert some control over him?”

“I’ve never succeeded in doing that yet, but I’ll keep trying.” I give her a wink and she tuts again.

“Right, I’ll leave you boys to it. Simon, take your meds and remember that I love you.”

“Love you, too, grandma.”

That was. That was all too. Well.

Simon has family. He does family things. I want to be part of that. I just was. I liked it so much. But.

Simon starts pouring batter into the pan and half turns to me. “So, as you might have picked up, I’m supposed to be asking lots of things of you. I’m shit at this though, Baz. I don’t want to fuck everything up. So I’ll do the easy one first. Can you go and get the black portfolio from by my desk, please?”

I pick it up and come back to the bench.

“In there is some work your mum started with my grandma. Then everything happened and grandma couldn’t stand to look at it. I want to finish it. I’ve already done some work on it, there’s not much left to do but I wanted you to have some input. It could be published but you have the final say. Not just because you’re the Pitch heir but because she was your mum Baz. I also understand if you want to give it to someone else, you know, to illustrate. You have to do what’s best for your family. But I really hope you choose me. I love it, she did something incredible. She was brilliant. I know you know that but it’s one thing to know it and another to work with it. It must have taken her years. This project is... well, look at it. It could change everything.”

“Crowley, Simon. I’ve never heard you speak so much. Does it mean that much to you?” 

I’m trying to ignore the rock in my stomach. My mother. My mother’s work.

He nods and starts another pancake. I want to see what this is. 

I open the portfolio.

I recognise the first story. The words are so familiar to me that it doesn’t even spark nostalgia, instead it rips me back to a place and time. I can hear her voice telling me the story of the Well at the End of the World. I hear her descriptions of the step-daughter sent to fill a sieve and the frog who offers assistance in exchange for one day of her servitude. The spell that breaks when she does his bidding, the happily ever after. 

There are drawings, Simons strange magical lifelike illustrations are in between the pages of my mother’s writing. His Well at the End of the World is set against a backdrop of stars. (It looks like that night, in the tower, when his magic was everything.) It looks like I always thought it would. It looks exactly how she described it. It’s like he was there. 

The illustration of the frog has a most intriguing expression on his face, like he’s hiding a secret with his scaly skin glowing from within. You can see that he’s been transfigured, you can tell what will break the spell that binds him. 

The step-daughter, unsurprisingly, looks like Agatha. It’s perfect.

I keep turning the pages. There are more short stories, little legends, myths, adventures. In my mother’s writing. The stories are full of spells, old, out-of-use spells. Words like ‘Expergefactor’ (used for reversing sleeping curses and comas) and ‘Grubble’ (a useful finding spell if you can’t use light). The Well at the End of the World has a transfiguration spell in it as well as a banishing spell.

If this book was read aloud enough it would resurrect some of our most potent spells. If Normals read these stories out loud to their children, they could make the words magical again. It would restore their power. Some of them don’t have modern equivalents that work. This is revolutionary. It would change everything.

“Simon, it’s–– Simon––” 

I’m crying but smiling. I feel like my chest is going to burst open.

Simon

I move towards him and take him in my arms. He leans into me.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–– Just when I read them, I loved them. I wanted to, for you, but also for her. This should be her legacy, but if you don’t––”

“Shut up Snow, I love it. I love everything about it. It’s magic and magical, just like you and just like her.”

“You love it?”

“Yes, you disaster – it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He leans back into me. This morning has been a lot and I’m really hungry. I pull away to finish breakfast and because it’s all too much. He follows and holds me around the waist, pressed up against my back while I do it. Like he doesn’t want to let me go.

Just ask the questions, Simon.

Not yet.

Baz

I’m not letting him go if I can help it. I have no idea how many ways he’s going to find to tell me what I already know. I want to sink into it. Just believe it. Then I remember how raw I felt when he took it all away last time. How desolate everything was. Everything is still, without him.

He kisses my cheek as he puts the pancakes in front of me.

“Eat, please – we have a busy day ahead of us.”

I raise my eyebrow at him

“Not just that, I thought we could walk by the river, look at some books and have lunch.”

“You get far too much fresh air, Snow. It’s exhausting.”

He waves a fork full of pancake at me. “Firstly, Baz, this is Paris. ‘Fresh air’ is a bit of a stretch. Secondly, there are two spaniels in there that we will have to deal with if we don’t wear them out.”

I nod sadly at him. A fucking walk by the Seine. That’s only the most romantic thing on the fucking planet. No problem. I decide to take a leaf out of Simon’s book and stop thinking about difficult things. I am starving. These pancakes are divine. I have to stop myself gorging on them.

He coughs then takes a deep breath. “Before that though, is there any chance that I could, perhaps we could. Fuck it – Baz, I really want to fuck you.”

Well. Fuck the pancakes.

I grab his hand and drag him back to his room. I’m not sure his feet touch the floor. He’s only wearing pyjama bottoms so it’s short work to get rid of those. He is equally quick at removing my pyjamas and we’re on the bed, naked in record speed. Magic couldn’t have done it faster.

His fingers trace lines across my chest as he bites into my neck. There’s not enough contact so I pull him on top of me and whimper as I feel him hard and pressed against me. He licks into my mouth, pulling at my hips, forcing me against his him. I’m on fire again, desire twisting through me.

I don’t do this often. I like to be in control. I don’t like to be vulnerable. But I need this. I push up into him harder.

When he reaches for the lube, I’m mewling into him, tiny broken noises. His hands are rough and calloused and I can hardly wait to see how they feel inside me. He’s circling me now, pressing so gently. I nudge down a little and he takes the hint and pushes his finger up inside me. I breathe out like I’ve been holding my breath forever.

He glances up to check that I’m good – Crowley, I’m good.

He’s licking and sucking on my stomach just above my hip bone while he moves his finger inside me. The he crooks the tip of his finger and fuuuuuuccccckkkkkk, how is he so good at this? I don’t care I just want more. As if he can hear my thoughts, he slides another finger in and I’m going to die being fingered by Simon Salisbury.

I want to urge him on, but I want him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. I give up to the sensation. Fingers, mouth, warmth, heat.

It feels like days or hours or minutes when I start to tremble. My legs are turning to jelly. It’s building, threatening to overpower me, my guts are fire and then it hits me. Wave after wave. What the fucking fuck is this? How is he? What the hell is going on? I’m clinging to Simon’s shoulder, mumbling nonsense and whining.

I’m still pulsing when he takes my cock in his mouth. He licks and swallows, taking as much of me as he can in each stroke. His rhythm is better this time – he’s a quick study when he’s interested in something. This is a different feeling, I know this though…

“Simon, I’m––”

I don’t even finish the sentence before the world shatters into stars and I’m coming hot into his mouth. It’s so intense and so much and I feel too much. 

I bite hard on my hand to stop the words leaking out of my treacherous mouth.

Simon

Fuck. Baz is gorgeous all the time. I mean it’s a full time, full on thing for him. But he’s never been as gorgeous as he is right now. Sprawled on my bed, fuck drunk and debauched. Pale skin glowing in the morning sunlight. 

I crawl up the bed to lay across his chest and run my fingers through his hair.

Eventually his breathing slows enough for him to start arguing with me. 

“I’m not complaining, Simon, but you still haven’t fucked me.”

“’M’saving it for later. Got a bit distracted.”

“Distracted?”

“Yep, I liked how much you liked it. I wanted more.” I stroke his cheek and run my thumb over his bottom lip.

“You are impossible, Simon,” but I don’t think he means it. 

He pulls me into a kiss and I can feel him trembling still.


	5. Tied to a night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's only the most romantic thing in the fucking world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been beta'd by the wonderful aralias who has made it about a billion times better.

Chapter 5

Baz

This is ridiculous. It is by far the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done. I am such a disappointment to myself. 

That said, when I get over myself for a minute, strolling along the left bank holding Simon’s hand while the dogs trot just in front of us is something I would consider spending the whole of my life doing. If I didn’t have some very strong feelings about other things I’d like to do with him. Very strong feelings. 

Paris is beautiful today (it always is). The air is cold and crisp, but the sun is bright. There’s a slight haze over the river. Simon is wearing a dark blue wool coat and dark jeans with light brown boots. He looks stupidly beautiful. He keeps looking at me and smiling. I catch him and do the same. I’m an idiot. 

We dip in and out of bookshops. He picks up old illustrated editions and shows me the panels he loves. I get lost in the smell and warmth of the shops, running my fingers over the spines, letting them fall open in my hands, rolling the words around in my mind.

I can’t stop looking at him. Leafing through books, really loving them. I spent years watching him growl at books, throwing them about the room, being perpetually annoyed that they didn’t have whatever answer he needed. Now they do. Now he can see the alchemy in them. Simon really couldn’t have planned a better date. 

Is that what this is? It feels like it. But also not. It feels too comfortable to be a date.

It feels like it should just be my life. 

The thing that baffles me most (or most now that I’m used to him not being an urchin and being in love with books) is how gay Simon is. In the old days he’d teleport away from me if he thought someone might mildly disapprove of us. Now he holds my hand, pulls me close, kisses me. He doesn’t even look at other people.

In the end I have to ask him about it. We’re sitting in a restaurant debating lunch options.

“How are you so out now?”

He looks a bit surprised. “You ask like this is how I usually spend my Mondays.” Then he laughs. “I dunno who you think I’m off being ‘out’ with or where, I live in rural Wiltshire and when I venture out, well everyone already knows all about me.”

I decide to ignore the bits in that sentence that makes my chest tight. “You live at Mere Down House full time?” 

“Yep, I don’t like too many people around me and I do like grandma, so.” He shrugs. “Do you know Mere Down?”

“I do, it’s beautiful. I spent some wonderful days there with Lady Salisbury when I was little. She also got me shitfaced at a Christmas party when I was fourteen. She’s a riot.”

“She is that.”

“She’s also mildly terrifying so you should probably ask me whatever it is you’re supposed to be asking me. I don’t want to get into trouble with her for it.”

“But it was going so well.” He’s actually whining, like a teenager who’s been asked to clean his room. In fact he used to whine exactly like this as a teenager. I’m much more comfortable not thinking about that though. I’m much more comfortable staying out of Simon’s real life both past and present. This is too fucking much anyway. If I allow nostalgia in that will be the end for me.

‘Don’t pout, Snow, just ask me. I promise I not to get upset, you aren’t breaking the rules here. I heard your grandmother tell you to ask me.”

He pouts a little, so I kiss him. 

“Will you come to the launch of our Foundation, please, Basilton Grimm Pitch? It’s at Mere Down and I can promise to protect you from my grandmother’s refills. It’s at least an excuse to wear your most expensive suit, Merlin knows I’ll have to.”

He can’t really be here asking me to come back. How can I? I left everything behind for good reason. I left Simon behind for good reason. I have a life here that is uncomplicated, easy and safe.

But that’s not what he’s asking. He is asking for one event because his grandma told him to, because he needs a Pitch to lend some gravitas, because it’s the done thing. I need to stop reading too deeply into this. 

“Pray tell me what this foundation does?”

“We’re funding an art and research department at Watford. Adding the arts to the standard curriculum and provide spaces for magicians with low magic. I want Watford to be a place where kids get to learn around magic. Not a training ground for child soldiers and political intrigue.”

For fucks sake. Could he be any more wonderful? Did all those years listening to me tell him about what my mother would have done differently actually sink in? Because he seems to be doing everything he can to make her dreams a reality. She would have loved his vision of Watford; she would have loved his work on her spells. I think she would have loved him. Even with his dire ability (or lack of) with magic.

“Could you be more of a fucking hero, Snow?”

“Probably – this is just the start. I have big plans.” 

He gives me a filthy wink. Crowley, how did he make that sexy? My mouth is practically watering.

“There is the slight issue of risking de-fanging and wand snapping to coming back,” I say, trying to get a grip on myself.

“Why? You haven’t killed anyone. Even if the Coven dared, they don’t have the votes. On top of that I would bring down a freezing winter that would last until I had executed everyone responsible. So they probably won’t chance it. They wouldn’t want to be responsible for turning the Home Counties into Narnia.”

Fuck me. I had forgotten how gorgeous he is when he works himself into a righteous rant. 

‘’Do you talk to the Coven with that mouth, Simon Salisbury?” I’m laughing as I say it but he’s not when he answers

“Only when they forget their manners.”

Merlin, Morgana and Methuselah, those meetings must be amazing. 

“I’ll think about it, Simon – is that enough?”

He leans over and kisses me.

Simon

He’s perfect. This is perfect. He looks like a painting of Paris in the autumn. He’s always looked good, but in a city where everyone looks good, he’s still a cut above. I’m never going to get over his arse in jeans. All this milling around has been lovely but I’m going to need to get him home soon. Partly because I cannot deal with all these people and partly because I still haven’t fucked him and it’s all I can think about.

I must be blushing because he leans forward and kisses the mole on my neck. “In good time, Salisbury.”

“Can that time be very soon please, sweetheart?”

He laughs at me but his eyes are stormy and he’s standing ready to go. I pay the bill and grab the dogs. I’m practically dragging him back along the riverbank.

I’m a bit nervous about this. I want it so much. I want him so much. 

And somewhere in a stupid, messed up part of my brain I’ve convinced myself that if I get this right, he’ll forgive me everything and stay. I know that it’s possibly the most ridiculous plan in a life of ridiculous plans, but it’s all I’ve got. 

And fuck it – if it doesn’t work I’ll at least have something to wank about for the rest of my life. 

It takes seven million years to get home. I do have to stop every few minutes to kiss him. He stops every few minutes to kiss me. Then there’s a bit of a grinding incident. Possibly a small detour that involves some under shirt groping. It’s not enough. 

When we get in, I can barely gasp out, “D’you need to feed?”

When he shakes his head, I can’t wait anymore. I drag his clothes off on the way to the bedroom. It’s a mess. It’s also fucking inevitable that I end up tripping and dragging him down with me. 

“Crowley, Snow, your enthusiasm is getting dangerous.”

He’s fucking smirking at me, so all I can do is snog him until he melts. 

I don’t want to, but I have to pull away. I’m not fucking Baz Pitch on the hallway floor. Well, not today. 

“Bedroom now, Pitch.”

He looks as if he’s about to be a git, so I lick his neck. He moans and then gets a move on. Finally. It doesn’t take long to get rid of the last few items of clothing that survived the trip to the bedroom. 

“Baz, can I?”

“Can you what, Simon?”

“Can I fuck you please?”

He gives me a moan of consent. He’s fucking stunning. Naked, wanting, mine (for now) 

I reach over and grab the condoms and lube. I also grab the bottle of tablets and pop the top. 

“What are you doing?” Baz has a tone in his voice. Concern? Anger? I’m not even sure.

“I was going to take a pill to, in case I – fuck it – in case I can’t control. The magic. It– I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, Simon. We won’t.”

“I love that trust Baz but I’m still going to–– It’s–– I’m just–– I’m going to––”

I could cry. 

I know he believes it and I want to believe it too. But I’m not safe, he’s not safe. I take the pill.

He stokes my arm as I do it.

I press back into him. Kissing his neck, licking into his mouth. He fists his hands in my hair and pulls me closer. I stroke down over the sides of his chest with the back of my hands until I reach his hips then I pull him up into me. He’s too far away. I need to be closer. Much closer.

I push up eventually with a wrench, but he follows me. Reaching up to keep kissing.

Once upon a time he would have crossed any line for me. It was me that stopped him. I drew all the lines.

I finally get enough distance between us to grab the lube. I pour it over my fingers and the bed and his thigh (I’m a walking advert for cleaning spells). Then I slide my finger inside him and surprise myself with the noise I make. It just keeps going.

I know I’m blushing, but I’m not embarrassed enough to stop. I want to touch him everywhere. He’s pushing down on my finger and gasping so I slip the second finger inside, working him open and panting his name. 

Baz

This is where he kills me. I’m actually going to combust and he’ll have to send my remains home in a ziplock bag. He’s growling my name while his fingers do unbelievable things inside my arse. My belly is just hot coals and greed. 

“Please, love.”

Fuck. 

I cannot believe my fucking mouth. 

Simon at least has the decency to pretend he hasn’t heard. Unfortunately, it also means he’s not fucking me. I try again

“Please Simon. Please, now please.”

He hears that. The few seconds it takes for him to get the condom on and lube himself up are the worst. I’m bunching the sheets up in my fists, squirming my arse down into the bed, moaning his name over and over. 

“Sweetheart, hold still please.”

Simon’s voice is so hoarse that it makes me briefly squirm more before I understand that I’m not going to get what I need if I don’t try to cooperate. 

He presses his cock against me and it takes every ounce of willpower I have ever had to lay still while he makes the next move. He gently nudges at me then surges forward in one delicious thrust. I take a breath to adjust to the pressure and, when I open my eyes, he’s looking at me with such undisguised lust wrapped in tenderness that I don’t know what to do with it all. 

Then I do.

I run my hands over his arse and pull him closer in. Deeper. I cry out when he pulls back, aching with the loss. But then he’s moving and I catch his rhythm with my own hips, rocking up into him. 

Shit, this is incredible. It’s tran-fucking-scendent.

It’s also nothing like getting fucked – I know what this is.

I can feel the want and the need and also the bursting in my chest. Everything I’ve been keeping locked up, every defence, every reason, every bit of self preservation crumbles at the same time. 

Simon

I stop for a second when I hear him say ‘love’ – does he mean it? It’s just a sex thing surely? But Baz doesn’t fuck up with words.  
No, don’t go there.

Don’t think that he might mean it.

Don’t think it could be true.

But then he begs and I can’t think anymore anyway.

He’s so tight and so cold. He’s getting warmer with every touch, every movement of our hips. I can’t take my eyes of his face. There’s something going on in that brain of his. I think it’s good, though, because he’s looking back at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen. He’s melting into me like something’s changed. My chest is full of lava and I want him to know, without me fucking it up. I want him to just know. 

The pressure is building in my gut, I haven’t got much time. Then he reaches up again and kisses me and it’s all on me too fast. I can’t catch hold of my magic – it’s spiralling – and I start to panic. How is this even happening, my meds should be blocking this. Who the fuck am I kidding – how do you block this? I’m getting desperate. 

Baz is right here. I have to hold on.

I drag a shaky breath from the bottom of my lungs and focus. He’s here.

He’s right here.

I move my hand between us and take hold of his cock. He thrusts up into it, babbling my name, gasping for breath.

He comes between us and I stroke him through it. I can feel it from where I am inside him.

This time the magic is more polite when it pushes through, I can see it shimmering across his skin in tiny white lights wherever I’m touching him. He gasps, it must prickle where it’s making contact with him because it raises goosebumps. He shudders against me.

“Baz, I’m close.”

“Yes, Simon, yes, please.” 

Then I’m coming and it feels like my magic looks. Bright and sharp and endless.


	6. Dark little heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words and magic are out of control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful Aralias for beta’ing this monster. It just wouldn’t have worked without it. 💕💕

Baz  
How do I move on from that? 

The absolute bastard just made love to me. (Who the fuck am I kidding? We. We made love. I’m as fucking guilty as he is.) 

I know. It’s a sickly sweet cliché but it’s true. I’m past denying it. I love him. 

I’ve always loved him. 

And I have no idea what to do next. I’ve got to do something though. 

"Simon?”

“Mmmm.”

“Can we have a bath please? I’m getting more sticky by the minute.”

He gives me a look that has far too much of what looks like pride in it. I raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Mmm, suppose so,” he concedes. “I like it here, though.”

"I promise you’ll like it there, too,” I say as I stroke his back. Then lower. 

He looks into my eyes again like he’s bursting to say something. 

Fucking say it. 

Say it. 

Just say it. 

He gets up. “I’ll run the bath and get your blood.”

Fuck. 

I lie in his bed and watch him walk away. It’s an exercise in restraint not to follow him and fuck him against a wall. Or at least kiss him against one. I need to kiss him. 

I haul myself up and follow him. I want his skin on mine. He’s in the kitchen prepping blood for me. Like this is part of his daily routine. I lean into him. 

“You don’t mind – the blood I mean.”  
“Baz, I can honestly say that it’s much nicer than vermin.” He giggles and strokes my cheek. “Your fangs don’t pop anymore, though. I miss that.”  
“My fangs, your wings. I guess we’ve both got better at hiding things.”

“That is a depressing thought, Pitch. You don’t get any better at hiding what a drama queen you are.”

I swat his naked arse. “And you didn’t get any better at hiding what a nightmare you are.”

He stays with me while I drink, holding me, stroking my arm, pushing my hair back behind my ear, running a thumb over the nape of my neck. When we walk to the bathroom, we’re practically wrapped in each other. 

I get in first, then Simon. He settles back against my chest in the warm water and my whole body feels like a contented sigh. He’s running his fingers up and down my legs in lazy patterns. I’m gently twisting his curls. 

I nudge him until he turns his face up towards me and plants a kiss on my jaw. Then another.  
I catch his eye. I want to look at him. I always want to look at him.I know I’m just lost in his eyes like a lovesick fool, but it’s all I can do. He doesn’t look away. 

“Why did you do it, Simon?”

It is entirely not what I meant to say. 

But clearly my subconscious needs to know.  
Where has this been? Where has he been? A twist of anger and frustration and grief for every lost minute of the past eight years yanks at my heart. I need to know the why. Why he couldn’t choose the path that led here. Why he couldn’t trust us.

He looks stricken.

“Because it was bad. You were there – I was just a mess of trauma and rage. I had to get you away before it got really bad. Because it got a lot worse before it got better, because I needed help, professional help to get through. Because I wouldn’t have survived if I’d hurt you like that. I was a monster for a long time. I was so angry.”

I want to make all of that pain go away. But I couldn’t then and I doubt I could now. Someone did though. Did what I couldn’t. 

"Did it get better when you found your family?”

He laughs a horrible, bitter snort.

“No. It got much, much, much worse for a while. Grandma dragged me through but, Merlin, I was vile to her. There are still bits of the house they might never recover. The drawing helped and the magic and the space at Mere Down and the medication and the dogs. But at first it was difficult.”

“I’m so sorry, Simon.” Because what else do you say? 

But my mouth is not inclined towards reticence today.

“I would have stayed, Simon. I wanted to stay. Nothing you could have ever done would have made me want to leave. I’m sorry I couldn’t make you see.”

He reaches up to kiss me. 

“Not your fault, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I hurt you – you’ll never know how sorry I am.” He swallows and his eyes fill with tears. I’m already crying. We’re both wrecks. Sobbing wrecks.  
I have no clue what to do next, so I hold him even tighter. I run my hands over his back and pull him closer to me. 

Simon

I murmur into his neck then say it (out fucking loud). “I love you, always have.” 

Shit. 

Not the time. 

He tilts my face up to his again

“I love you too, I’ve loved you longer.” He strokes my hair back off my face and I grin at him. He always has to win. I fucking love that about him.

“Now up – I’m finished.”

And just like that we’re on to the next thing. I guess we aren’t talking about it. I have the strangest feeling, though – I want to talk about it. Why doesn’t he want to talk about it? It’s sort of important. It feels like something that we should at least have a passing chat about. 

We pull on pyjamas and I make tea. 

I can’t have this distance, I can’t let him slip away from me. I won’t watch him out those walls back up, not now. So when we’re on the sofa I ask, “Will you read to me?”

“What?”

“Your mum’s book. I have a copy with just her stories.”

“Crowley, Simon, I’d love to.” 

His face goes beautifully soft.

The dogs appear, excited to see us. Baz mutters at them to make sure they know exactly how much he hates them while he’s kissing their warm heads.

I sit between his legs with my head on his chest and my sketchbook propped on my knees as he reads (his elocution is annoyingly perfect). I can hear the magic running through each story. His breath is cool on my cheek and I keep leaning into it.

My hand drifts over the page sketching the pictures he’s creating for me. There’s a pause from time to time as he looks at the sketches and kisses my neck. I’ve drawn page after page after page. I’m so lost in it. In the stories and the sound of Baz’s voice.

Baz

I remember these stories. Only fragments of them but I remember them. And now I’m reading them to the man I love, curled up on the sofa, in a cozy domestic pile. 

He loves me. 

He came to find me. 

He was trying to protect me.

He loves me. 

Then he stops me. Fussing. Worrying I’ve read too long or I need something.

I drop the pages and pull him into a kiss, scattering sketches and ignoring the grumbles from the dogs as he clicks his fingers, pointing them to their room. They give him sad faces as they trot away.

I can’t get him close enough. He’s biting my bottom lip, running his tongue along it. My hands are on the small of his back, pulling. I’m desperate for something, for him. 

“I love you.” He’s half whispering it into my mouth. It’s exactly what I needed. 

“Simon, I love you. Please––”

I don’t know what I’m asking for, but I think he does. 

He tears at my pyjamas and his, elbowing me and kneeling on me. I don’t even care. I’m grabbing at him and touching him and kissing him whenever he gets close enough. 

Simon moans every time he finds bare skin and presses into me desperately. It’s like we haven’t been naked all weekend, like this is the first time I’ve touched his skin, the first time he’s touched mine.

When he’s satisfied that there’s not a scrap of fabric anywhere between us, he pulls and pushes until we’re both on our sides, facing each other. (Thank Merlin it’s a big sofa.)

Then he kisses me. Slowly and sweetly then he’s desperate and needy. His hands are both in my hair pulling me forward. I realise I’m doing the same to him. 

He pulls away. “You ready, love?”

I nod. I have no idea what I’m agreeing to but I’m ready for it. 

“It won’t be the same. Don’t try to cast – you can’t control it like before. Just let me give it to you.”

Oh.

He wants to give me his magic. His new magic.  
He runs his hands over my skin until we’re both breathless and aching. Every kiss is so deep, every breath sets my skin shivering against him. He’s about to cross the final line. Take us back to the beginning of this. He’s about to share the thing that bound us together and tore us apart. 

It’s almost a shock when he pushes a finger against me because this didn’t feel like sex. I didn’t think this was where we were headed. It’s not how it worked before.  
I adjust quickly, though. It’s not like having sex with Simon is an unwanted outcome.

I arch up into him and press down onto him at the same time as he growls gently into my mouth. Everything is so gentle and so desperate at the same time. 

I find myself tracing each mole along his arm and, inexplicably, it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever done. 

Until Simon rolls is over, hitches my leg up and slides into me. Then the rise and fall of each breath is the most erotic thing I’ve ever done. 

Simon

This time it’s slow. This time I’ve got forever. I barely move inside him. I barely move my lips on his. This is more like breathing. I feel like I’ve never done it properly before. 

Baz

He twines his fingers in mine and kisses me again.  
It starts like a hum in my fingers, then a vibration up my arms. There it is. That’s what I’ve been aching for, what we’ve needed. 

There’s no fire in Simon’s magic anymore. Now it’s all cool, fluid swirling itself into the fire of my magic. I let myself go in the sensations of his kiss, his magic, his skin against mine. 

As his magic meets mine, it lights tiny fires and then rises to meet it with ice.

There’s so much warmth (so much Simon) against my cold skin, but inside me it’s the opposite. A glacier melting under a pyre. Melting and flaming. 

It’s touching every part of me. It feels like the answer and the question.

I push back, gently at first, uncertain. Then I’m wide open, magic flowing both ways, like the circuit really is complete this time.  
I giggle into his mouth and he catches it with a groan.

Simon

For a second I think I’ve lost control.

Completely. 

There’s fire in my cells, burning through my veins, exploding in my heart. It takes me a second to work out what this is. He’s pushing magic into me. It’s impossible. Clearly not but, y’know, it is. 

Each little fire is met by a tiny slam of ice that turns it into a swirl of magma.  
Merlin, we don’t match – we fit. 

Baz

I think I’m imagining it when the room lights up. Then I hear the thunder. Growling and rumbling outside. The pressure fills the air then rips apart. Rain is crashing against the window, rattling the panes.

The next flash of lightning feels very close. It briefly knocks out the power plunging the room into darkness. 

The lamps flicker back on and Simon’s magic flows back out of me leaving me bereft. This is worse than before. All those years ago, when we did this first, the magic only flowed one way, the connection was different. (Also, he wasn’t quite literally inside me at the time.) My magic can’t push through anymore. The tide rushes out both ways. 

“Stay, Simon. Stay.”

“Weather – I need to stop before it gets out of hand, I’ve got to, Baz”

He takes a deep breath. The charge in the air dissipates. Like he’s steadying the air. How the hell do you begin to change the atmospheric pressure without using a spell? What kind of reserve of magic would you need to call lightening?  
Shit. He really has got weather magic. That’s insane. I’ve never even read about anything like it. 

He’s looking at me like he’s not sure now the magic has gone. Does he still think that’s why I love him? 

I have to make him see. He has to know that he’s enough without it.

“I mean stay.” I put my hand on his arse to illustrate my point.

“Can I?” 

He asks like he still needs to.

Can you what Simon?

Touch me? 

Take everything I have left? 

Fill my heart with hope and love and you? 

“Yes, please, love.”

Simon

Doing this without magic just makes it more bewitching. I can concentrate on the feel of his skin, the tension in his muscles, the way he’s looking at me.Like I still matter. Like it’s not just the magic. 

I roll my hips, again and again, and Baz meets each movement with his own. We stopped kissing a while ago so we could gaze at each other. His pupils are huge, but I can still lose all sense of time and place in the grey of his irises. 

He’s pulled the corner of his lip into his mouth and I wish his fangs were out. I wish we could be who we are, all of who we are. Messed up, broken, terrifying and real. 

There’ll be time enough for fangs and wings later though. (I hope they’ll be time enough for wings and fangs later.)

Each gasp, each moan, each touch – it’s suddenly too much. When I come it sends shivers through me over and over and over. 

Baz whispers my name as he comes around me and over me and between us. 

I want to be right here always

Baz  
I nearly jump out of my skin when the phone rings – and the iPad goes off, and some sort of klaxon thing that sounds like it might be magic. 

I wanted to stay here for always with him fluttering and shivering on top of me. But he’s got to move to stop that fucking noise. 

He grabs for his phone and throws a blanket over us. 

"Hi Grandma.”

“Simon, are you OK? The weather alarm went off. Do you need me? I’m so sorry, Si. I hoped–– I’m sorry. Please take some meds and I’ll be there soon.”

“No need. I’m fine, honestly.”

“You don’t look fine, Simon. You’re all sweaty. You look fucked. Oh my God––”

Simon interrupts her with his gigantic filthy laugh and she joins in and then I do too. 

“You little bastard. You couldn’t warn an old lady?” 

“Explain how that would work, Grandma. I’m intrigued.” 

There is so much laughing that I feel drunk. 

"I’ll leave you two to whatever you were doing but no more lightning, please, Simon. My heart can’t take it. I still love you, though, Si, even if you are an absolute fucker.”

“Love you, Grandma. Thanks for, you know.”

She ends the call with what looks suspiciously like a tear in her eye. 

I don’t really want to talk. Words seem redundant in the face of whatever the fuck that was, but an idea is busting out of my brain.

“Wait, was that you? The night of the gala – the rain?” 

He’s blushing furiously, so I’ll take that as a yes. 

“I thought you were so calm and collected when I could hardly stand up. Turns out you were messing with the natural order.” 

“Sorry.” 

“What on earth are you sorry for? It’s incredible. I love it. I love you. Your magic is beautiful.” 

Simon

I crawl back into his arms. I’m still chuckling to myself.

“So, that was embarrassing and hilarious but also spoiled whatever we were just doing. I know this is going to come as a massive shock to you, but – fucking hell – I want to talk. I think we–– I don’t want––.”

“Simon, you’re going to need to breathe a bit and then tell me what you mean.”

I won’t cry. I can do this. I need to do this. 

“I don’t want this to end. I don’t want you to go. I want us. This. You.”

I’m losing control of my magic again a bit – I can feel the pressure building outside. I close my eyes and try to be still.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, Simon. Yes to us and this and you.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Us?”

“Yes.”

“For good?”

“Yes, I think we’ve got some details to work out, though, love."

“But you mean it? Together?"

“Yes, you beautiful idiot. Tell me exactly what you have in mind because you’ve been the one plotting for a while now and I’d like to know what you’re going to do with me."

"Everything.”

"You might need to be a tad more specific, love."

"You mean like, how we introduce your cat to my dogs?"

"Amongst other things – such as how you know I have a cat and where we might live with our menagerie?"

"Of course, you’ve got a cat – it’s who you are. And wherever you like. Mere Down would be my preference but wherever you need to be."

Baz

Wherever I need to be. Is it too fucking needy to just tell him that I’d literally live anywhere just to be near him now he’s mine? 

I smooth the unruly tumble of curls back off his face. "I’m not trying to be a twat––" He snorts and interrupts me; I pinch his thigh. "But I think you probably need certain things to stay well. Like the space and the dogs and your grandma. So, let’s go to Mere Down. We can come back here whenever we want to, yes?"

Instead of an answer I find myself under his full weight being kissed until I can’t breathe. Still acting rather than talking. It has its upsides though. 

When he finally lets me go, there’s still a look of uncertainty in his eyes

"Simon?"

"It’s just, I didn’t think we ..."

"You didn’t think I would drop everything that I’d built to distract me from you if I had the option of having you? Of course, I fucking will. There is only you, only ever you"

He looks at me with such unmistakable surprise that I feel like I’ve done all of this wrong forever. How is it possible that he doesn’t know how much I love him? That I’ve only ever wanted this?  
I still don’t know how to convince him. What are the words? What’s the key?

“Your grandmother is going to have to fight Daphne over who is in charge of wedding preparations” 

He laughs. (Crowley, I love his laugh)

“Did you just propose to me, Basil Pitch? Because I expected more … drama”

“You don’t think the surprising reunion, the magic sharing, the lightening, the insane sex and the crying is enough drama?” 

I kiss him. Then I kiss him again.

It is enough. It’s everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will hopefully be more in this series. I can’t resist carrying on the story 😁


End file.
